


Shipwreck

by Ray_K



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bullying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 00:30:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16294880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ray_K/pseuds/Ray_K
Summary: An older brother does his best to take care of his younger sibling, even when the worst has already transpired.





	Shipwreck

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of abuse, not graphic but very sad. Could be implied sexual abuse, read with caution.

Two boys sat in the attic of an old house. A moment stolen between daily chores and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Cross-legged, the space filled with dry air and soft breaths, smelling of dust and childhood toys packed away, never to be passed on. The boxes were filled with the word “NO” and plush animals, velveteen rabbits and lost looking glasses. Dolls with missing hearts and sailboats far too broken to leave harbor again.  
“She’s all I can think about” the words are arid, like the stale air. His companion nods as if he could ever understand, taking the younger boy’s cold hand in his own.They clutched to one another, each refusing to loosen the hold, knowing too well what happens when apart.   
“She can’t hurt you anymore” Sam’s words held an air of confidence that he wished he could claim as his own. He may have been a scrawny 17-year-old, but he was Thomas’ whole world in these moments. Their family was a proud one, and scarcely let the boy cry over such an event, so it was up to his big brother to coax the tears out.   
“I know…” Tommy said with an uncertain pause, “but what if she comes back?”   
“She isn't coming back, she's in Philadelphia now, at the hospital”   
Thomas begins to shake, with tears he wishes he didn’t have to shed. He knew the neighbor girl was gone, the hurricane was over, yet his tears came.   
Tommy remembered when his parents spoke about Her admittance to the mental hospital, a humane option for the deranged girl. Their voices were hushed and the kitchen door separated them, yet Thomas and his brother got very good at listening between old oak and cracking plaster.   
Samuel took his handkerchief from his pocket, drying his little brother’s eyes. The attic is still in these moments, when Thomas slips a note under Sam’s door. Crying becomes a conspiracy, both too broken to ask for these meetings out loud. Both pretending they are there for the other. They meet in the cramped loft to talk about Her and crash to pieces in the still silence. Reality doesn't exist in this crawl space, there are no questions, no “boys don't cry,” no judgment.   
“Come here”   
“I’m not a baby anymore Sam” but he goes willingly, leaning against his brother's chest, breaths evening out.   
“You never got a chance to be one Tommy.”  
“Don’t matter much” Fits wrack the younger’s small body. A leaf on a tree, trembling with the force of a storm.   
The frustration of it all seemed to drown him, and he cried with sorrow Sam did not know a little boy could feel. When the older of the two learned what had happened, he couldn't imagine such acts. Such barbarism lived in the past, not the modern era, not now, not here.   
It still haunted him; the guilt that he had been the one who decided to pay the strange girl. A new neighbor, a family from God knows where and a 13-year-old who could make fried eggs and take care of children. Sam gave her $8 an hour, to escape his babysitting and spend time in arcades and theaters.   
“Hey,” his words were like candlelight, soft and warming “Hey, it’s alright.” Sam attempted to bring them both back, but the shaking would not stop. They both fell over the edge sometimes, the darkness in Her cold eyes eating up their minds. That day was dark as well and painful.   
Sam had just come home from the movies, police everywhere. Thomas wrapped up in one of those emergency blankets, the flashing lights of the cop cars and ambulance lit his face, making the tears shimmer blue and red.   
A chilling fear gripped the boy in his arms, and he choked for air. The echoes of fingernails on his scalp, laughter and a burning inside his lungs. Sam began to rock his little brother, a soft cooing muttered in the dim attic.   
It was three days, the next time Sam received an innocuous little note from his brother scrawled in the penmanship of an 8-year-old. He wanted to meet outside this time, in their garden. It was March and everything was beginning to grow again, a heavy rain cascading on the old brownstone. His mind wandered over the day they all found out.   
It rained that day and the whole family stood, soaked to the bones. That day, pain tasted like rainwater and heavy air. None of them spoke much, but he remembered his mother explaining what happened.   
When Sam went to speak with Thomas he was already outside. Eyes closed and head upturned to the sky, water streaming over his face. It was the first time the young boy let himself be near water, his washing up consisted of a warm damp rag and dry shampoo.   
The doctors said it was natural after such trauma. He remembered what Molly’s confession said, hearing it in the courtroom, barely keeping down anger, cheeks wet with tears.  
Molly would go up to Tommy’s bedroom and offer to play a game. She filled the bathtub with ice cold water and plunged his head into it until he could hardly breathe. She brought him back up before he blacked out, let him catch his breath and went again.  
A faint smile pulled at Sam’s face as he walked into the garden. He stood before his little rain-soaked twig of a brother. Taking the boys hand in his, he began to dance to an imagined tune. The first smile since the hurricane broke on Thomas’ face as the pair jumped around in the grass. Something snapped into place within the two, something felt right. The rain kept up well into the evening, and the boys toweled off and read by the fireplace in their living room.   
Samuel recited the Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling well into the evening. The pattering of rain and the intoxicating words of far-off lands lulled Thomas into sleep. His older brother carried him into their shared bedroom. The heaviness in his heart matching the weight in his arms. On nights like this, it was easy to forget what his brother had been through. He tucked the frail boy into their bed and placed a kiss on his forehead,   
“I'm sorry.” he tucked in next to him and laid awake, waiting for sleep to claim him.   
Two weeks had passed without a note. Sam was beginning to worry that Thomas was bottling everything up again. It took hours to get the boy to cry in the first place, and for that progress to be set back... He wasn’t sure he could handle it. However, the soft sound of paper scratching on hardwood floors brought Sam out of his thoughts. The note, scribbly and harsh  
reminded him of Thomas’ youth, and a smile was brought to his lips.   
The USS Tommy sails again.   
A messy drawing of a boat was scrawled next to it which only served the broaden the grin on his face. The older boy opened the door and followed the familiar path to their shared bathroom, hope beating in his chest. The sight that he met in the old bathroom was one he feared he would never see. Thomas’ model ship was afloat on the splashing water of a full bathtub.  
The younger of the two splashed and played with the lukewarm water, kneeling beside the great Victorian tub. In addition to the USS Tommy, a small boat with painted lettering, there were toy ducks, turtles, and an assortment of seafaring vessels.   
Sam was quick to kneel beside his brother, offering to play as the large yellow duck, a favorite of Tommy’s. Laughter filling the house once again.


End file.
